


Taught to Doubt

by DustToDust



Series: These Cages of Ours [3]
Category: Hulk (2003), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mexico sounds like it's going to be a pit stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taught to Doubt

Bruce is a silent disaster. He looks fine, he acts fine, but it doesn't take much to see that he's falling apart on the inside. If Clint were prone to overstating he'd say that Bruce was screaming inside his own mind. It's no real wonder why Hulk comes out so mad all the time if he's stuck in there with it. Clint doesn't really get a good sense of how fucked up the man is though until he finds a wrinkled newspaper.

They're in a Texas diner, and Clint's trying to figure out how to get a razor for Bruce because he's starting to come down on the wrong side of the hobo/possible serial killer divide. There's a store down the street, but it's a mom and pop store in Texas. Clint's only been through the state once in his life and that was more than enough to impress on him the dangers of trying to lift something from a store where the owner keeps several shotguns behind the counter. It might be worth it in the long run to just hand over some of the dwindling cash they've managed to get hold of for one.

Clint's mopping up the last traces of syrup from his plate when he notices the way Bruce has gone still. His face drained of color and his breathing even in a way that Clint's realized is the man's way of trying to stay calm.

"Bruce?" Clint sits up as straight as he can in the booth without breaking his stupid wings. He's sprawled out as comfortably as he can get, but there's still a lot of pressure on the middle where there's no joints to help ease it.

The waitress is still giving him dirty looks, but no one else has come in that Clint can see and nothing's changed outside. He looks down at the paper Bruce had unfolded when done with his own meal and immediately recognizes the front page news story. It's the wrecked and smoking remains of the train. There's a blurred photo of Hulk right next to it under a line that makes Clint want to growl.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Clint snatches the paper away and flips it so he can read the _lies_ printed in it. " _They_ were the ones who derailed the train!"

"The Hulk is very dangerous, Clint," Bruce says with the kind of weary sadness that Clint's starting to think is Bruce's default tone. "They tend to approach him with the kind of force they think will contain him."

"Yeah, I call bullshit. It's obviously not working so they should've found a different tactic that _won't_ lead to-" Clint stops and gapes at an innocuous line in the article. Losing the thread of his thoughts immediately. "Oh those cock sucking bastards."

"What?" Bruce looks concerned when Clint looks up, the paper crumbling in his hands. "Clint?"

There's a brief summary in the article of civilian casualties. A few words listing the number of dead and critically wounded. It's a number too low for the damage Hulk caused to the group of armored men throwing fucking grenades and using flamethrowers when they were caught. So, it's not their numbers being reported in the paper, and without them as an explanation there is nothing.

"They're making up numbers for people getting hurt!" Clint exclaims, keeping his voice down just enough to keep the gum snapping waitress clearly waiting for them to leave from hearing. "Wait," Clint stops at Bruce's suddenly grim look, "aren't they making it up? The Army's not going around hurting people just to blame it on Hulk, right?"

"The Hulk doesn't see people, Clint. When he's angry all he sees are things to hit," and that weary sadness just doesn't quit. Bruce looks _resigned_. "Innocent people getting hurt or killed is very common when he comes out."

"But there wasn't anyone there!" Clint protests, because that at least is something he knows. The train driver or whoever hadn't stopped when the train lost half of it's cars. He'd been smart enough to keep going well away from the explosions and fighting. "We were in the middle of nowhere, the only people to get hurt were the fuckers _shooting_ at Hulk. There was no family of six hanging around anywhere."

Clint knows this, because while Hulk seemed to be bulletproof, Clint knew he wasn't. He'd circled the whole fight keeping out of sight and trying to help where he could. A gun taken from one of the first idiots to bite it in hand as he took potshots at the flamethrowers because they seemed to be upsetting Hulk most. Trick's voice in his head correcting his aim because they'd been thinking about adding some fancy cowboy type shooting to the act and Clint had been getting used to the lack of control in a gun. He'd done well enough hitting their legs and arms, and hesitating the one time he got a clear sight of a head. Too long to take it.

Clint shakes off the shot he didn't take. The point is that there was no one around. Not during the fight, and not when Hulk grabbed him up again and took off. Putting a good couple of states between the train and them before stopping.

"Are you sure?" Bruce presses with a frown as he reaches for the paper. Flattening out the wrinkles and looking at it again. One finger tracing under the line of a made up family name or, more likely, the name of a family that's been paid enough to lie about it. Barney's done that once or twice. Taken a check to pretend something happened that didn't. It's a quick cash game that Clint's seen pulled off too often to believe.

"Yeah," Clint says with all the confidence he has, because it's true. He watches as something eases in Bruce's face. Something that's too close to grateful relief to sit well with Clint.

It's obvious to him what's going on here. That it's some sort of mind game being played by the Army and that old man with the steely eyes that had made Clint want to hide. Ross, according to Bruce. Newspapers lie too easily to be believed, and even when they're caught in the lie it's usually too late for even the corrections to do any good. The initial, shocking report is all that people will remember. Clint wonders how many reports of Hulk have been exaggerated to manipulate the public.

He wonders how much of it Bruce has taken as solid fact because he has no memory of what's happened.

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he carefully folds the paper back up. Train wreck story on the inside. He counts out some bills from their cash and leaves them on the table next to the bill before getting up. "We should see about getting out of the country today."

~

Crossing over into Mexico is easy. Bruce assures him it's harder to get back into the States despite the fact that it doesn't look like there's anyone around them for miles as they walk through an area that doesn't look much different to him than what they've been walking through all morning.

Clint's starting to sweat under his heavy coat and his wings are getting sore. At the joints and around the area where he's learned it's best to tie them down. The heavy backpack Bruce had produced, out of thin air because Clint knows they didn't have the money for it or the things inside, doesn't help in the least. "Seriously, there's no one around. Can't I take it off for just a little bit?"

"No," Bruce repeats. His face shaded from an ugly yellow and brown baseball cap. His own bag is bigger and heavier, and Clint had protested that at first but he's just grateful for it right now. "There are people around. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they can't see you. The border is watched very closely, Clint."

Clint looks around them. He sees nothing but bare, dusty ground. A few dried branches of things that might have been bushes at some point, and a little movement way too far off that might or might not be a rabbit. There is nothing else, and definitely no one else around. "Yeah," Clint drawls out as he trudges on behind the older man, "you know just because they're out to get you is no excuse to be paranoid, right?"

"I'm not paranoid," Bruce's lips twitch. Clint can see it from the side when he veers off track to avoid a pile of rocks. "I've just been over the border often enough to know better."

Clint shakes his head and squints off into the distance. Supposedly they're going to come across a road sometime before the sun goes down. A road with enough traffic to hitch a ride to the closest town where Bruce knows a few people. Again, Clint, doesn't see it, but there's a dip or something ahead of them that might be hiding more than it looks to be hiding. He looks away and blinks because the bushes off to the left of them are moving more than they should. Clint stares at it and starts when he realizes it's not the bushes moving, it's a person.

"Holy shit!" Clint speeds up so he's right next to Bruce, and turns to keep the patch of bushes in sight. It's not close, but it's close enough. The figure is still now, but Clint can still make him out. "Really?"

"You see one?" Bruce asks and there's just enough smug I-told-you-so in his voice to make Clint grimace. "You've got good eyes, usually you never see them until you're about to step on someone."

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Border patrol," Bruce says, completely unconcerned that they're being watched by some creepy ass fucker in a set of dead bushes. "From either side, or maybe a smuggler. They're all very good at hiding out here."

" _How_?" Clint asks, fascinated beyond anything else, because there is literally nothing to hide in or behind. Hell, Clint wouldn't have believed anyone could hide in a bunch of dry branches until he saw it with his own eyes.

"Practice," Bruce says and his voice is every bit as dry as the land they're going over. His lips twitch more when Clint spins around to pin him with a glare. "I'm being serious. Half the time that's all they have to do out here. You can get very good, very fast at something if you're bored enough."

Clint frowns and turns back to the bushes. The man is gone, but a bit of movement catches his eyes and Clint tracks the man for as far as he can.

~

Bruce turns out to be pretty good at speaking Spanish. He exchanges a few words too rapidly for Clint to follow with a gray-haired man with a face that looks like it's been beaten by the sun and time. The old man lets Bruce into the cab of his rusted up truck and Clint's left to find a perch in the bed of it amongst a bunch of scrap metal and junk.

He's used to riding around like this and barely even notices the potholes or the wind as the old man speeds off. He watches through the cloudy back windows but neither Bruce nor the driver speak again. It's kinda strange that the old man would just pick them up like this, but Bruce doesn't seem surprised by it and he's the expert on jumping borders.

There's at least an hour to go before they reach the place Bruce's friends are at. Clint's tired enough that he shifts a few metal bars that look like they might've come out of a car around until he's got enough room to lay down and not risk being bounced out of the truck. The road's bumpier than what he's used to but it doesn't take Clint long to nod off. 

~

Lesley Morales is a cheerful woman who greets Bruce with an exuberant hug and excited babbling about molecules or something. Clint really can't follow the science talk as he follows them into the nice looking house that smells fucking amazing. There's the sound of meat sizzling coming from an open doorway that looks like it leads into a kitchen.

"Let me tell Lucas to throw a bit more on," Lesley detaches herself from Bruce and grins as the man shakes himself off. "You two make yourselves comfortable, alright?"

"She's nice," Clint says when Bruce drops his bag and sinks into a chair, but doesn't seem very inclined to start sharing any info. Clint drops his bag too and fidgets with the coat. His wings trying to flex a little after the weight of the bag is gone.

"She is, we went to school together," Bruce turns and looks at him, blinks a bit before nodding. "You can take the coat off. This home is safe."

Clint hesitates, he doesn't know this woman and her unseen husband, and it's not good to trust that easily. It's been days though since he was able to take the coat and bindings off for any amount of time, and his back feels like it's a massive mess of aches.

"It's fine, Clint," Bruce reassures him with a smile. "Mexico is even worse about mutants than the States in some ways. Lesley is here to try and change that."

"I'm not," Clint's fingers had moved to remove the coat but are frozen now. Clint looks at them, at the thick digits and the callouses he's built up through practice. Bruce's words wait to be acknowledged, but Clint's mind is stuck on one word. One word that everything in him revolts against. "I'm not."

"Not what? Clint?" Bruce is up and touching his shoulder carefully, obvious worry in his voice. "Clint are you alright?"

Clint jerks back and snaps his head up. Anger quick and hot boiling away the shock as he backs away from Bruce, hissing, "I'm not a fucking mutie!"

"Clint," Bruce's face contorts with a lot of things as Clint takes another step back. "That's not-" Bruce sighs and pulls his hand back from where it was hovering in the air. He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and turns to walk back to the chair he was in before. "I know that, Clint, and for the record, I'm not a mutant either."

Mutant. 

It's bullshit. Clint's been in enough foster homes that he's come across a few kids that weren't born right. Kids that obviously weren't human, and were either abandoned or mistreated so badly the state had to step in. It was stupid kid logic that had put up an invisible divide between those kids and the rest of them. Clint hadn't known enough then, because he was too young. All he knew was that the mutie kids weren't right and you didn't want to get caught near them or you'd catch it too.

Stupid fucking kid logic that the adults had never, ever tried to correct.

Clint knows better now, he's older and likes to think he's less inclined to stupidity, but the way he shakes at the thought of someone calling him a mutie tells him he isn't. He's _not_ past that stupid thinking, he's not past the sneers and words hurled at the people Barney called 'the _real_ freaks.'

"There's more in this world than most people know," Bruce says, and Clint looks up at the man who isn't looking at him. "A simple label of human and mutant isn't really enough to categorize it all. There's more species than that, and the differences between them are so laughably small that most scientests don't consider them a valid difference. One chromosome is all the difference between a human and a mutant, Clint," Bruce continues, and he turns slowly to look at him fully. "Most people don't even know they're not human you know? They've got the genes, but they don't manifest any outward signs of it. They're not human but they think they are because they don't grow scales or can fly. The powers, the changes are only an outward sign and they don't always happen."

Clint crouches down and listens. Genetics is a thing, he's vaguely aware of it and can kinda follow it. Bruce makes sense, but it's his voice that Clint clings to. Calm and even, stepping down the panic that wants to take over. Because, because-

Clint's a freak. He is. He's got fucking _wings_ growing out of his back. He might as well be a mutie as far as the rest of the world is concerned. There's no getting around that, and Clint's going to have to just fucking deal with it.

"You can't tell who is what just by looking at them, not these days. You need to do actual DNA testing," Bruce grins then, sudden and broader than anything Clint's seen the man use before. "There's a man in one of those anti-mutant hate groups that has all the genetic markers of mutancy. He just never developed anything from it, but he'll pass those genes down to his kids. He can't change his own genetics. No matter how much he screams about it."

"Bet that went over well for him," Clint mutters because yeah, that is kinda funny. He rocks back on his heels and winces as the change in position pulls his jacket tight against his wings. He plucks at the rough cloth of his jacket and looks up at Bruce to gauge his reaction. "You sure?"

"Yes," Bruce says and there's no hesitation there. No hint of a lie. Not that Bruce has led Clint wrong yet.

It's a relief to get the jacket and bindings off. He can't stretch his wings out fully, the room's too small, but he pushes as much as he can. It's a fucking relief that makes him groan. 

He flinches when Lesley breezes back into the room. Her eyes zeroing in on his wings immediately. She smiles and doesn't say a word though as she turns to Bruce. "It will take a bit for it to be done. Now," Lesley sits in a chair and grabs one of Bruce's hands. Not seeming to notice when he flinches back a little. "Tell me what's been going on with you!"

~

Lucas is a good cook, and far better at not staring at Clint than his wife. Lesley's eyes are a there and gone again flutter of attention. He doesn't like the way she keeps smiling at him. He's seen smiles like that before from people. Aimed at pets who've done something special and precious. He's straddling a chair backwards to eat. The back of it too high for his wings to fit over comfortably, and her gaze on them is fascinated.

Clint tries to ignore the way she tries to drag him into the conversation and focuses instead on his plate. It's seasoned and seared steak with some sauce that's so spicy he feels like he'll be able to breath fire. He tries to avoid the pile of seared veggies too but the fire is too strong and he has to eat them to try and get some relief.

"This is good," Bruce says as he cleans his plate almost as fast as Clint. He doesn't look the slightest bit phased, which isn't fair. Clint can feel his face heating up to what has to be a horrible splotchy red from the spices.

Lucas gives an easy smile that looked out of place on his broad face the first time he used it, but now Clint thinks suits him. He's a very large man that Clint would have found intimidating upon sight if he hadn't already met Hulk. It's an impression that would have faded fast either way, because Lucas might be big but there's absolutely no trace of violence in him at all.

"Thanks," the man obviously would have offered more, but they've all pretty much cleaned off the tray he'd brought out. "How long are you going to be stay with us. I could make some birria tomorrow."

"Don't tempt me. We should head out tomorrow," Bruce settles his fork down on his plate and nods at Clint. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Lesley says with a light laugh. Bruce rocks back from an obvious kick or push under the table. "It's been _months_ since we saw you last! I have so much you need to see. Stay through tomorrow at least."

"Well," Bruce drawls out and glances at Clint before caving. "Alright, I suppose we can stay for another day."

Lesley squeals and actually claps a little in excitement. Clint gapes a little because he's never seen anyone actually do that outside of movies about air-head blondes. He's always thought it was something made up, not something people did. He's not against staying for another couple of meals though. Especially not if they're as good as this one. He shrugs at Bruce and plays with the sauce on his plate as the three adults talk about things that get increasingly complex as the night goes on.

~

Clint wakes up late and doesn't want to roll out of the bed he'd been shown to the night before. Lesley and Lucas have a series of guest bedrooms that Bruce told him are often lent out. To mutants, was unspoken, and Clint gets the feeling that Bruce was understating it when he said things were pretty bad in Mexico for them.

He forces himself to roll out of the bed though. Years of getting up early to start the endless chores that need to be done for the circus to run won't let him laze around too much. He's got some new clothes, jeans that fit better than the pair he'd had on before, but the shirt is whole. They've figured out the best way for Clint to wear shirts is to cut the back open. Just enough to slip over them, and it's almost like he's wearing a bib most of the time. 

Lesley had promised to help him alter the shirt so Clint pulls on the old one. It's stiff with dried sweat and could use a good wash, or a burning, but it will do for now.

He gets a blinding smile when he wanders downstairs from Lesley who's working over a pile of papers. "Good morning, Clint! There's some breakfast left in the kitchen if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Clint shifts and looks around, but there's no sign of Bruce and the woman still makes him feel uncomfortable. He goes in and finds a plate next to the stove. There's no plates in the sink or mess to see at all in the kitchen. He eats the meal that's cold but still tastes good and looks out a window into a small, enclosed back yard. 

It's empty too and the only sounds Clint can hear come from Lesley in the other room. He leaves the plate in the sink and wanders back out. "Where's Bruce?"

"Bruce?" Lesley smiles again and Clint thinks she doesn't have any setting below 100% for it. "He went with Lucas to buy food for dinner. Did you want me to look at that shirt now?"

"I can do it," Clint says with a shrug as he rolls the hem of the dirty shirt in his fingers. "You got scissors?"

"Of course!" Lesley extricates herself from her comfortable looking seat and rummages in a nearby basket. There's some thread and cloth dangling from it, and she comes out with a rather lethal looking pair of scissors. "You sure you don't want me to do it for you? I could use the break from this."

"I can do it," Clint repeats and takes the scissors before retreating back upstairs. It's a minor alteration and Clint's had to do a whole lot more than cut holes in a shirt for the circus. 

He makes the cuts, and adds a few lateral cuts at the bottom that he uses to tie the shirt shut in the back when he slips it on. It keeps it from flapping too much when he moves. Clint rolls up the dirty shirt and stuffs it into his bag with everything else. 

Clint thinks about going back downstairs, but the thought of playing nice to Lesley makes him shudder. She's a good person as far as Clint can tell. He just doesn't really like her very much. She's too earnestly nice for him to trust.

There's no telling when Bruce and Lucas will be back though and Clint's already tired of this room. He wanders out into the hallway and pokes around in the other rooms for something better to do. Lesley and Lucas have their room on the first floor. The entire second floor has been converted into guest rooms. 

Bunk beds, multiple beds, cots. The floor looks like a hostel he'd stayed in once with Barney when the circus was taking a break for winter. Put together with whatever was easily available at the time and made to house as many people as possible.

It's just him and Bruce right now, but Clint sees signs of other people in the rooms. A few drawers of clothing left behind, some graffiti on the inside of a door that Clint can't read, and the start of an interesting carving on on leg of a bed that looks a little like a lion.

He ends outside of Bruce's room and Clint pushes the door open to see a room that's the mirror to the one he's in. A single bed, a chair, and a table with a pile of books instead of the empty vase Clint has. It's obvious these two rooms are meant to be the better guest rooms. For family or friends instead of the mutants that Lesley seems committed to helping.

Clint's poking through the books --most are in Spanish, and one is an English poetry book-- when he realizes that there's nothing else in the room.

"What the fuck?" Clint turns back around and looks hard, but there's nothing. No sign of the pretty large bag that he'd lugged up the stairs for Bruce just last night.

Bruce doesn't have anything else to leave behind, just like Clint, but Clint doesn't think a large hiking bag is something someone wears to go grocery shopping. He checks under the bed to be sure, but nothing has been stuffed under there.

"Oh, fuck no," Clint breathes in sharply and feels panic clawing at him as he thinks about the Army or scientists coming in late last night. Getting Bruce again while he slept just down the hall. For all of ten seconds before he really gets a look at the bed.

It's the same size as the one in his room, and the sheets are perfectly fitted to it. Tucked in with a kind of precision he's never seen before. Not a single wrinkle in them like there are on the ones he slept in. No one slept in this bed at all.

The front door opens, and he can hear Lucas' voice echo a greeting. Clint can hear Lucas and Lesley talking. Bright and cheerful with no hint of anything dangerous. He doesn't hear Bruce though, and Clint _knows_ now. Knows for sure what has just happened.

Bruce has left him behind.

~

He goes out through the window and into the back yard. Being careful to avoid the areas that are easily seen through the kitchen window. It's harder than it should be, climbing down and then over the wall, because of the weight of his wings. He's going to have to relearn where his center of gravity is now. It might be easier if his wings were out though. Clint can feel his wings try to flare out when he tips, off balanced. He doesn't have the time to relearn it now or let his wings out to compensate though.

Clint knows some Spanish. Basic conversation type things and every swear word there is. One of the better foster homes he was in was run by a woman who could speak it and the system dumped every Spanish speaking kid they could on her. It'd been crowded and too loud with kids screaming and TV soaps in another language playing all day, but it was one of the few places Clint had actually felt safe in. Anna had been overwhelmed and too busy to properly pay special attention to any of them, but she made damn sure they had food, clean clothes, and a place to sleep.

Sure, he'd shared a bed with Barney and two other boys, and most of his conversations with some of the kids was acted out instead of spoken. It was still a hell of a lot better than most places.

So Clint can speak some Spanish. Mostly, he can understand it better than he can speak it. It's enough for him to get fairly reliable directions out of the city. He doesn't bother trying to look for Bruce in the city. Bruce is long gone by now.

The man is trying to dump Clint, there's just no way he's going to stick around. Especially since he's going to be going further South to try and stay off the radar.

Clint manages to somehow talk his way onto the back of crowded truck. He's not the youngest person on it, but he still sticks out among the sleepy crowd who are obviously on their way to a labor intensive job. Clint leans against the side of the truck and doesn't look anyone in the eye or try to talk, and the others obligingly ignore him.

He should've known this was going to happen sooner or later. Bruce has tried to get him to leave on his own, and Clint has refused each time. The obvious next step is to just up and leave without him knowing. Barney's done that a few times. Clint's gotten good at catching up to people though.

It's not good that Bruce has the entire night as a head start, but it's not something he can't get around. Bruce has to have slept, at least a little, so he only has a few hours on him. 

Clint will find Bruce. He has no doubt about that.

~

The truck makes several pit stops to drop people off and pick others up. Each stop gets longer and longer to Clint's irritation. He's thinking about hopping in with someone else when the ground shakes under his feet.

No one else pays any attention to it. They're all talking and laughing, passing food and drink around. Clint's learned to pay attention to small things though and he's rewarded when he hears an unbelievably loud roar echo through the air. All the talk around him stops but Clint's not paying any attention to the people he's been traveling with anymore. He's up on his feet trying to track the sound of the Hulk.

He gets a vague direction and takes off. Fast as he can manage because he _knows_ how fast the big guy can be, and if he doesn't get to him soon then he's got no chance of catching up to Bruce when he flees South.

~

It's a fucking miracle when Clint rounds a sorry looking building, something that looks like a cross between a barn and a warehouse, and finds Hulk's large green form crouched down. His back is to Clint and he looks as calm as Clint's ever seen him as he glares all around him.

A dozen cars had sped away from the area as Clint was running towards it. He'd been able to make out several absolutely terrified faces before they were gone. He wonders what they'd done to Bruce to drag the big guy out.

"Hulk!" Clint calls out because his muscles are tensed and he looks ready to start jumping. "Hey, wait up!"

Hulk spins. Fast and dangerous but something changes for the better in his face. "Bird Boy."

"Yeah, that's me," Clint's given up getting the big guy to call him anything else. He walks slowly up to Hulk, trying to get his breathing back under control from the run. "Man, you don't know how happy I am to find you here."

Hulk looks at him with a frown that's epic. One green finger nudges at his shoulder with enough force to make him stumble back. The frown gets more severe as he grunts, "No wings, no Bird Boy."

"What?" Clint reaches out and gets an arm over Hulk's wrist to help keep him up. It takes him a bit to figure out what Hulk's saying and he laughs. "Oh, no man. I still got my wings. They're under the coat. Wish I could get rid of them that easily though."

Hulk doesn't seem convinced and Clint drops his bag before getting the coat off. He flexes his wings gratefully and watches Hulk as he studies them with obvious satisfaction. "See? I'm still Bird Boy."

Bruce has spoken about Hulk a bit. Mostly about how dangerous he is, but there's been a few times when he's compared Hulk to a five-year-old. It fits with what Clint knows about the big guy, and makes sense. He's a bit simple but obviously he knows what's going on around him. He just doesn't know as much as he should because he doesn't get the chance to come out and _learn_.

Bruce has said that losing control is like going to sleep, and it doesn't take a scientist to realize that the same should apply to Hulk. Bruce doesn't know exactly what Hulk does, and Hulk doesn't know exactly what Bruce does. There is no overlap of knowledge there.

"Bird Boy," Hulk agrees and he's pleased as he runs a heavy finger down Clint's wings. Clint protests the rough treatment and Hulk tries to lighten his touch. It's enough to only knock Clint around again and probably as good as he's going to get from the big guy.

It's not all that bad though, and Clint's just glad that at least one of them seems to really want Clint to stick around.


End file.
